


Dont let in the Cold

by RradioactivePpanda



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Dubious Consent, Jotun!Loki, M/M, Underage Sex, kind of?, war bride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RradioactivePpanda/pseuds/RradioactivePpanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Typical war bride fic:<br/>Loki and Thor are to be wed as part of the truce; it was never going to be easy.<br/>Basically a smutty two shot pwp most likely</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dont let in the Cold

Thor leaned heavily against the wall of his fire lit chamber, briefly eying the fire before shrugging off his ceremonial jerkin and lazily throwing it over the closest chair. He recalled the fiasco of the night for a short time; the memory of high pitched yelling and broken cutlery scattered haphazardly across the feast hall playing in his head. He touched his cheek gently, feeling the four shallow slashes that newly adorned his sculpted features and sighed loudly as he leant back and slid down to the floor, closing his eyes.

==

 

In Loki’s opinion the night had been terrible from start to finish, and no one could tell him that the catastrophe preceding it was anything less than an ominous foretelling of how things would span out, most likely, for the rest of his life. 

The ice giants had finally been beaten by that blasted Odin.

Well, they called it a tactical truce, but in Loki’s opinion it was his father turning his belly up, coward enough to bare their icy lands to the so-called mercy of the Asgardian royalty. Loki didn’t enjoy war, young as he was he could still see the effects on heir kingdom and people, yet surely fighting on would be better than being so yellow in the face of the oncoming storm? Either way Loki, being the youngest, smallest, weakest and most unimportant of the family, had not been privy to the war counsels, nor been asked his opinion. And now they were here, dining and laughing with their once-bitter enemies.

They’d arrived only a day ago, the most important members of the royal family travelling together with the most important members of court to the famed halls of Asgard, all in all totalling only a few thousand in number. Cleary Loki’s father was sparing no expense in this truce, Loki had thought moodily. At first he hadn’t really understood why he’d even been brought along, but a speech about duty and the greater good had been delivered to him, explaining why the underage prince was accompanying them to these important meetings. He was to marry, and not just marry any so and so, but the crown prince of Asgard himself. Obviously he had been upset, or angry to be exact, but in reality what else was he to expect in life? And it helped that he was so fascinated with the new lands he had forgotten in half about it, there was truth in his father complaining about Loki being easily distracted. 

Only when he was suddenly landed in the middle of the asgardian feast, decked out in finery and forced to sit next to the huge brute of a man, his husband to be, did Loki freak.   
And freak he did. 

Sure the Asgardian hadn’t meant anything by his pointed look at Loki whilst talking about a particularly badly mannered whore to his bearded friend. Suuure, thought Loki angrily. 

And so there had been a small comment here, and depreciating laugh there, and before he knew it the hall had burst into an uproar. Plates and cups were thrown across the stone hall, Loki clawed Thor’s cheek, Frigga hissed like an angry goose, whilst Thor’s friends were torn between holding Thor back and finishing the mead before it was further spilt. The food managed to remain untouched saving for when Thor overturned the table it was sitting on. 

All in all a disaster, and yet Loki was still there, being primped and preened by maid servants before he would be escorted to Thor’s rooms for a night he knew would be hell.  
One of the pale skinned maids finished re-applying thick kohl to the dark blue skin of Loki’s eyelids before tucking a loose lock of black silken hair behind one horn. Loki’s shamefully small, overly-polished, curved horns had earlier been adorned in golden ornaments, which had thankfully been removed and a sheer white body wrap had been draped over his slim shoulders. 

A heavy hand landed on said-shoulders and Loki gulped as he looked over his shoulder and up into the piercing red eyes of his father.  
“Loki, my son,” he started, fingers tightening on the supple skin “the time has come to make me proud”

==

 

Thor dwelt on his duty; somehow he was going to have to get up it up for that spoilt runt that had thrown a hissy fit at the wedding feast. Angrily he tossed the blond locks from his forehead before staring hard at his crotch, as if willing it too hard enough would make it rise to the occasion. Unfortunately that’s not how it works and he sighed before trailing a hand down to cup at his manhood, gently pressing and releasing with his eyes clenched shut. 

He couldn’t do anything with the memory of the first giant’s youngest prince in mind; his black-lined flashing eyes, the bared teeth and his not-female flat chest only weakened his resolve. Quickly he summoned the image of the whore he’d visited the day before, recalling her fleshy curves, the dimpled skin of her upper thighs and the way her ridiculously soft breasts spilled over the edge of her bodice. His breathing quickened as he thought of the way she’d giggled as Thor had pushed her over the table, hiking the voluminous skirts up to reveal the weakly-rounded globes of her bottom which flushed pink as he’d playfully slapped them. Thor could almost hear the echoes of her breathy, sugar sweet voice as he finally began to harden. 

And yet, almost exactly one breath after he had relaxed into the process a knock came on his doors and they swung open, revealing an escort surrounding the young blue prince. Thor paused, and eyed the group momentarily before motioning for them to enter. He pushed himself up from the balls of his feet, dusting off his knees as the two front escorts ushered Loki past Thor and towards the bathroom. Thor waited for the two escorts bringing up the rear, each baring a small collection of items in velvet purses before following them to the bathroom. He leant against the frame of the room, studying the prince who had been divulged of the garish golden ornamental jewellery that had littered his hair, horns and body. Now he stood in the centre of the room in a thin gauze shawl, his slender body visible through the material and his jaw raised high, directed away from Thor and studiously ignoring him. The female attendant moved towards the prince, polite yet wary and gently removed the robe from his skinny shoulders and passing it on to the other waiting servant, whilst the last two escorts busied themselves with setting up two small heated bowls into which they poured liquids. One was a ceremonial fragrance that had been prepared specially using the natural pheromones of the gosling dragon, the other simple oil. 

Though often other cultures ignored this part of the ceremony, Asgard considered it customary to commence the night with a preparation and the first escort had begun persuading Loki to sit on the ledge that ran around the bathroom. Thor watched with feigned uninterest as the attendant coaxed Loki to open his legs. There, between the prince’s legs, was no cock or hair to be seen. Instead he had a cunt, a royal blue one, but a cunt nonetheless. Thor halted himself from making any noise of surprise at this and followed the scene with his eyes as the woman dipped two fingers in the heated oil by her side and brought them up to Loki’s unnaturally still body. 

Suddenly Thor didn’t need to think about yesterday’s whore anymore.


End file.
